


I Have Nights and Nights To Spare

by scionsandsinners (Sweet_Nemesis)



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/M, Power Struggle, a true neutral and a chaotic neutral refuse to feel or show emotions, no proofreader we die like mne, pained realisations of mild affection, they have a big storm coming, tiefling OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27511204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweet_Nemesis/pseuds/scionsandsinners
Summary: "Good evening." She offered sounding barely sincere, smile twisting her lips. Astarion shot her a look."Oh, it's been atrociousas you well know." The vampire stalked several steps forward, closing the space between them easily. N'iymah distantly noted he didn't make a sound across the grass when he didn't wish to, a halfway-decent predator when he wasn't running his mouth. "All themerrimentandpraise." He scoffed and her horns hit the trunk behind her with an audible thunk while she loosely draped her arms over his shoulders, letting Astarion crowd her against the nearest tree. "But there's still time to salvage the night."
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Female Charname (Baldur's Gate)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 101





	I Have Nights and Nights To Spare

**Author's Note:**

> cannot wait for these two to experience the epic highs and lows of high school football, the high school being baldur's gate itself and the football being Real Emotions.
> 
> title from Entropy Reigns (In the Celestial City), the theme for Niy & Astarion's entire shit.
> 
> there's _some_ smut here but it's mostly setting up how these two percieve each other and their inital relationship.

"Perhaps." N'iymah had drawled in answer to his proposition, pointed tongue flicking momentarily against the rim of the bottle she'd taken from Astarion to judge. The green at the centre of her black eyes was luminescent in the night and never strayed from his own as she made a show of mulling over his proposition, chain and cuff ornaments draped across her horns jangling lightly with the cant of her head.

 _There_ it was, the streak of fun he'd peeked behind her careful, stoic mask every now and then. He knew people, their minds, how they worked and N'iymah's restraint was too perfect to be anything other than a mask. It'd be a lie to say he hadn't counted on the buzz of the wine to jostle it just a little loose. Astarion flexed his fingers minutely, itching to curl his nails around the metaphorical edge of it and _tug_ until he saw her true face--the one that reared its head during combat, made fangs stark against her blade as her tongue darted out to catch a drop of blood off the edge just to unsettle an opponent. Now _that_ was someone he could indulge with.

"If you say _please_." She decided, wresting him from his thoughts, a wry twist to her features as she watched his own freeze.

" _What?_ " The smirk that'd been curling dark and smoke-like at the edges of his mouth had dissipated, blown away. Was she asking him to _beg?_ No...there was something else in her good humour. Mechanically, Astarion held his hand out for the wine as she passed it back, tail brushing suggestively across his wrist and down his forearm as he reached for it.

"You heard me, I'm sure." N'iymah's smile was predatory, unexpectedly sending a thrill up his spine that made the hubbub of the refugee's party muffle. There was no denying her tone promised the sort of decadence that could make such a horrendously _merry_ night worth his presence, all for the price of one pretty word. Ah, that was it-- _civility_ . She was telling him to _mind his manners_ , how droll.

A power struggle this early in the night? Astarion paused a moment to collect himself once more before licking his lips, amused. The sex would certainly be anything but dull.

He'd concede this, he decided. She'd earnt enough of his favour to play a little, and the upper hand was ultimately his regardless--after all, what he wanted would be his and that's all that mattered.

" _Please._ " He threaded a purr through his words, smile winding its way back between them. N'iymah laughed from low in her chest in a manner that somehow didn't rankle, perhaps because it was less a crow and more genuine delight.

"Good boy."

"Cheeky."

\--

Privacy was a difficult thing to find when camping under the sky at the best of times, let alone with a literal party of refugees bedding down for the night with them, but N'iymah managed to slip alone into the forest surrounding their camp with little aplomb. The alcohol that'd fuelled the dancing and singing earlier now pushing near everyone into deep, snoring sleep.

Astarion shadowed her like a true creature of the night as she picked her way through low undergrowth to one of the slightly clearer areas. _This_ he knew and revelled in. The seduction, the game--except this time the prize was _his_ to claim.

Assuredly she walked, footfalls admirably quiet, avoiding the minor hazards of tree roots and vines with a steady gait he kept pace against, studying. The chains that'd adorned her sweeping horns and chimed with her movement earlier were conspicuously absent and she appeared to have shucked a handful of her layers in anticipation of their planned encounter, leaving a simple black shirt, loosely laced at the low neck. Not rethinking their dalliance then. Good.

He returned the favour as she slowed and he approached, allowing the woman to hear him fuss with metal clasps while he removed the various fripperies of his outfit; doublet, belt, a trinket or two they'd picked up travelling. He'd expected her to jump, or her heart to skip in shock, but she hardly seemed surprised at his sudden appearance. Astarion set the garments neatly aside, N'iymah's glittering eyes tracking the line of him in his shirtsleeves and breeches with appreciation. He nearly preened.

"Good evening." She offered, sounding barely sincere, smile twisting her lips. Astarion shot her a look.

"Oh, it's been atrocious _as you well know_ ." The vampire stalked several steps forward, closing the space between them easily. N'iymah distantly noted he didn't make a sound across the grass when he didn't wish to, a halfway-decent predator when he wasn't running his mouth. "All the _merriment_ and _praise_ ." He scoffed and her horns hit the trunk behind her with an audible _thunk_ while she loosely draped her arms over his shoulders, letting Astarion crowd her against the nearest tree. "But there's still time to salvage the night."

His hands set themselves confidently at her waist, fingers digging lightly into her sides to keep her in place, though they both knew she could break away if she wished. She'd twisted out of more complicated holds in combat initiated by people far more invested in making her stay than he was. The air felt heavy while he studied her carefully, the slope of her nose, the twitch of her mouth, searching for any sort of crack in her façade. It was like trying to read a book with the cover glued shut. With a slowly dawning realisation he saw that she was doing the same to him, eyes roving silently before settling on his own. Aha. So he _wasn't_ the only one using this tumble as an opportunity to gauge the other, among other things. It was comforting, in a way, to know she didn't entirely trust him either. 

_'We're quite similar'_ indeed.

N'iymah was the first to break the stare and into a smile, fangs bright in the low moonlight that filtered through the leaves. This close Astarion dragged his gaze over them, Tiefling fangs were made to rend demonic flesh from hellish bone rather than pierce skin to drink, but the effect was the same. The idea of danger.

He bared his own in an answering smirk and felt a flush of familiar pride at the way her pulse kicked up a few notches at the sight. She might've wrestled with him for the reins of their encounter and they might both have had worms in their brains hanging over them like an executioner's sword, but his ability to inspire lust remained _steadfast_.

The pads of her dancer's fingers dragged slowly along the length of his jaw, talons following behind the delicate touch to pause under his ear before she fisted her hand into his hair, pulling him into a fierce kiss. Fangs found lips on both sides, sharp enough to cut shallowly, the faint taste of blood in the kiss adding a potent layer to his desire. Quick fingers were already working at his shirt buttons, his own tugging the laces from her breeches as she toed off her boots. N'iymah laughed when her shirt went flying somewhere behind them leaving dark skin exposed to the air.

"Good to know all that lockpicking expertise is a transferable skill." She mused, entirely naked and unashamed as her hands explored his stomach, the planes of his chest, running over him as if to warm his perpetually cold skin. Astarion snorted, grinding his still clothed arousal against her for some measure of friction. Few things were more pointless, he found, than hiding how aroused you were during a tryst. 

"I _do_ hope the same can be said of that silver tongue." Red eyes pinned her in place as he stepped back minutely to remove the pieces she'd not already liberated him of. N'iymah inclined her head at his words and she watched him bare further skin, pointedly licking the light speckle of blood that remained from her lips. Astarion couldn't help the dark laugh that spilled out of him at the sight. Oh she was _wickedly_ fun. Once finished, he dove back into the kiss and lifted her easily, hands at her thighs, her back pressed against the tree and legs wrapped around his waist.

Another grind. Another mutually pleased hum.

Suddenly, as though she'd been waiting for him to grow lax in his control, N'iymah rolled her hips against his, back arching against the tree trunk as she used her weight to topple them both. The legs she'd locked around his waist now straddled and held him in place, but with little actual force. Somewhere amidst the surprise attack Astarion took note that the hand in his hair kept him from slamming his head against the ground but even that thought was stalled in place as she tossed rosy locks--loose and braided--over one shoulder, leaving her neck exposed to the mild night air. To _him_.

N'iymah leant down, the heat of her body seeping into his until they were chest to bared chest. Her other arm came up to curl around his head and she ghosted her question against his lips.

"Well?"

He lay there a moment, masking his puzzlement at her willing offer by stealing her warmth and a handful of smaller heated kisses before deciding to trust that she was serious. Astarion's fingers dug into her hips in the only warning she got before he rolled her beneath him. Her lips tilted from lazily mouthing at his own to his jaw, smile curving against his skin at the move. The Tiefling ground upward against his length as he traced an exploratory path of languid, sucking kisses from below one pointed ear to her neck. He hadn't taken his time the last time he'd... _fed_ from her. The first time he'd ever fed from anyone. A large part of him had been concerned she'd suddenly realise her mistake and pull away before he had the chance, but now…

His fangs grazed her throat intermittently, searching for the most tender spot and the pulse under his questing mouth jumped each time. Either she was entirely masking her fear or, somehow, was confident enough in his control. Both were startling to consider, and Astarion turned his thoughts away as he bit back a moan in annoyance, only allowing a huff. N'iymah had canted her hips harder this time, talon grazing the shell of his ear as she did so.

"Impatient, are we?" The night was still enough to make his amused, if strained, words against her collarbone sound much louder, breaking the quiet of the clearing. N'iymah's answering chuckle was low and her talons curled white hair around them playfully. Everywhere her skin touched seared against his own before he got used to the Tiefling heat (and minor spikes)--still it made it easy for him to heed her tail as it tracked slowly upward from his knee to wrap loosely around his thigh at an idle thrust against her of his own.

"Just wondering which prick you intended me to feel first." Another nonchalant roll of her hips to slick her heat up against him and N'iymah moaned, pleased. "Not to mention making known my preference." 

"Vulgar little thing, aren't you?" His hands slid from gripping her waist to one of her thighs that held firm at his own, nudging her legs open a little wider. Despite their muted power struggle she followed his direction without complaint.

"Sometimes." She allowed. Astarion frowned slightly at the soft kiss to his temple as she spoke, "Fun though, hmm?" N'iymah chased the worryingly sentimental kiss with a salacious tongue, catching the sweat that had started to bead in his hairline. " _Wanting_." She murmured.

That was enough of...whatever this was becoming he decided, sinking his fangs into her neck, ice into veins of fire. Her gasp was felt first, the fingers in his hair tensing to scratch talons against his scalp before another, longer moan escaped her. The fact that she seemed to derive _pleasure_ from the act pleased him regardless, though he brushed the thought away quickly before he could dwell, focusing on the bite.

He was getting a palate for this, Astarion realised. When he first drank from her it'd been a test, though an unplanned one; for him to see if he could disobey his ex-Master's rules, for her and the tenuous trust they'd been building. The most he could discern from her blood was what he could discern from his first taste of mortal blood in general: warmer, sweeter, stronger, _delicious_ . But now he drank daily, from multiple sources. Now he could parse out _flavours_.

N'iymah's remained unique. Hot blood hit teeth, his tongue, the back of his throat, warming him from the inside out. His senses sharpened in response to fresh vitae, the scent of her skin and the taste of her taking over. Like wine, she was heady, a little dizzying, though whether that was from the alcohol in her bloodstream or _her_ was up for debate. The richness wasn't though, _that_ was an indulgence that threatened to become a craving in the future.

Dimly he became aware that the woman writhing under him had started to trail the hand not still balled in his hair down the front of his chest, talons catching pointedly on a nipple, eliciting a slightly harder bite and rock of his hips to which she lightly bit the point of his ear. When he pulled another slow mouthful from her neck N'iymah's hand guided him to her entrance, his next rock against her sinking him near fully into her.

It was intimate, their hearts settling into a shared rhythm, her blood through both their veins. Astarion drove into her heat further, harder, a tangle of pleasure fizzing at the base of his spine, until he forced himself to pull away from her neck before he drowned in the _everywhere_ of her. He hid his wanton expression in her throat and ran his tongue over the bite mark. It was too much. Too fast.

Too intimate. And neither of them was here for _intimate_.

Especially when they'd agreed this was just _fun_. They were fucking in the shubbery, for goodness sake. His internal chiding only lasted long enough for N'iymah to note the distant look on his face before she distracted him and ran a thumb over his bottom lip, a drop of her blood coming away with it, her hips continuing to meet his at a steady pace. Astarion watched, transfixed despite himself as N'iymah licked her thumb and he stuttered in his thrusts before a wide, lascivious smile crept onto his face.

The night was young, after all.

She rolled him under her again.

\---

N'iymah watched the man she'd let ravish her multiple times over the past several hours as he attempted a quick getaway with deep amusement.

"In a rush?" She asked, sing-song, rolling onto her side. The early morning light was watery and dappled, casting them both into light and dark.

To his credit, Astarion neither jumped nor stuttered, instead turning to face her. "You sleep light." He noted while his smile disappeared a moment behind the shirt he pulled over his head. N'iymah was content to simply watch him button up. "I thought for sure you'd be _exhausted_ after last night."

"Excuse you, my stamina was never in question." The beginning of a laugh brushed her words before she turned curious and leaned her chin on her hand. "I wondered about the Infernal."

That made him fumble and a frown creased his brow. "Infernal?"

"On your back?"

A litany of emotions from confusion to annoyance flitted across his face in quick succession before he finally settled on neutral displeasure. "It's a poem. A gift from my old master, Cazador." His tone was blithe as he spoke, but the hard look in his eye and set of his jaw belied his true feeling. "He considered himself quite the artist and used his slaves as a canvas."

Astarion monitored her expression as she processed this information, prepared to sneer at her pity, but the woman eventually ran her hands through her hair, sitting up. "Bastard." She said finally, flatly, pressing no further. His fingers tightened, flinching minutely into the leather of his doublet as though worried Cazador would hear her before he smoothed out the reflex. N'iymah began to reach for her undergarments and he nodded to her back.

"And that?" His tone was nonchalant, but they both understood the question's intent. An eye for an eye, information for information.

Without looking, N'iymah knew to what he referred. Between her shoulder blades two fist-sized, ragged circles scarred something awful. "A man I was perfectly content to marry decided the best way to make sure I didn't stray was to remove my wings." She matched his earlier blithe tone with her own glibness, shrugging as she laced her own shirt. "I took his arm."

On the tip of her tongue another phrase hung, unsaid.

 _We'll take Cazador's head_.

**Author's Note:**

> i run scionsandsinners over on tumblr, ping me if you want.


End file.
